


Glow

by maidenstar



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, academy au, this is just an unimaginable amount of gratuitous fluff and i refuse to be sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1525886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidenstar/pseuds/maidenstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'“Do you think we’ve done it, Fitz?” she asks, threading her fingers between his and holding their intertwined hands up, peering at them as though they were something worth examining, just as she did in the lab.' They spend their post-finals afternoon together, wrapped up in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CRIMSONBRUXA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CRIMSONBRUXA/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Tiff, ily ♥ 
> 
>  
> 
> (Also here's some fluff to make up for the last two stories I put on here - as always feedback is very much appreciated!)

He catches the soft, green strands between his fingers, as his hands drift lazily through the grass, and he looks up to a sky that’s the clearest, most vivid blue.

Lying on his back, he spreads his arms out as though he were making a snow angel. The sounds of the Academy, and his fellow students all mid-celebration, are dim and muffled up here and his world has narrowed to the warm sun on his face, and the sounds of birdsong mingling with the gentle chords of the music drifting from the speakers in her phone.

If he cranes his head, he can just see her a few feet away, drifting, barefoot, amongst the tall grass, summer dress dancing elegantly around her legs in the slight breeze. He hears the light ringing of her laugh as she spins slightly, hair tumbling down her shoulders. She bends down to examine something that catches her eye and he drops his head back down with a contented sigh.

Their bags lay where they had carelessly abandoned them, in the shade of an old tree. His had fallen open, books spilling out onto the ground, but he has not bothered rescuing them, happy in the knowledge that there is no more studying to be done until they receive the results of their final exams.

She joins him a moment later, sits beside him with a whisper of cotton, knees bent and feet tucked to one side. She smiles fondly down at him, then frowns, all talk of whether 1A had been answered as well as Agent Willis wanted and he laughs. _Always such a worrier_. He stills her hand, covering it with his own as it hovers in mid-air, gesticulating in that expressive way that was just so _her_. He assures her she’s done brilliantly and as he squints in her direction, sun shining brightly directly behind her head, he thinks brilliant is a word made for Jemma Simmons. She flashes him an apologetic look but will not be distracted.

“Do you think we’ve done it, Fitz?” she asks, threading her fingers between his and holding their intertwined hands up, peering at them as though they were something worth examining, worth her scrutiny, just as she did in the lab. He knows she wants to qualify as a SHIELD agent more than anything, and finds her passion and fervour infectious.

He considers his answer for a moment before sitting up. She drops his hand when he moves and he wishes he’d kept still.

“I don’t know, Jemma,” he admits even though his head had been filled placations and assurances just a moment earlier, but he had always been too honest around her. She seems to appreciate the candour though, smiling again, and the silence stretches out between them, words so often unnecessary adjuncts for them. They had always communicated in looks and laughs, in touches and tiny, sweet gestures. 

He’s happy just to be caught in her glow as white petals dance between her fingers. Quickly, she weaves a delicate chain of flowers, laughing as she deposits it on his head, a crown she declares to be lovely. He laughs with her for a moment, before removing it, leaning forward and sliding it round her neck in a move that brings them closer than he had anticipated. The bright afternoon light reflects in her eyes and he cannot bring himself to tear his gaze away as he attaches the last daisy to the first, forming a perfect necklace. He lets his fingers skim gently across the soft skin of her throat as he drops the flowers.

“There. Perfect,” he murmurs, still staring at her.

Leopold Fitz has never been one for botany.

She bites her lip slightly as her gaze begins to rove across his face, searching, unsure. They have skirted around this since a drunken night at the Boiler Room had left them spilling secrets like drinks, slurred admissions of deeper feelings no less sincere because of the beer they’d shared. They’d woken up next to each other hours later, both on top of his bed in their clothes from last night, their heads pounding, too sick and embarrassed to pick up the conversation they’d left unfinished.

It had been enough at the time to know she felt the same.

He takes his eyes off of her for just a moment, watching as his fingertips linger at the hollow of her throat, one hand trailing up to cup her cheek, and she captures his lips before he has time to realise what’s happening. As her hands glide around his neck to pull him closer he believes that she tastes of summer afternoons, and of sunlight itself, and that he could never, ever have enough of it. He feels as though he must be glowing from the inside out, shining like a star, as they kiss until they are forced to gasp for air.

She presses her forehead to his, flashing him a bright, beaming smile. They are close enough that he can smell the suncream and earth on her, and feel the warmth of the sun on her skin as he lightly scatters fingerprints over her freckled shoulders.

She dips her head to kiss him again, slower, softer this time, and it feels as though the ground falls out from underneath him as she takes his bottom lip between her own, teeth grazing against him slightly, making him shiver. The contentment he had felt in sun and birdsong paled into insignificance, caring now for nothing more than the feel of Jemma Simmons settling against him, fingers gripping at his arms as though she is trying to keep herself steady.  

They while the afternoon away like that, nothing and no-one to disturb them as he lies back down on the grass, pulling her with him and extracting a laugh from her, hands ghosting over her back as she pillows her head on his shoulder. They watch as the colours of the sky change, blues fading to hues of orange and pink, kissing lazily and breathing in the sweet evening air that descends around them.

Holding her hand in his, he traces the constellations that gradually appear above them, moving her hand to make the shapes with him, although she could name them all with her eyes closed anyway. He decides he would stay there forever like this if he could, with the scent of her hair filling his lungs and her whispers filling his head, but eventually she shivers in the evening chill, standing and collecting their things. She holds his hand again as they drift down the hill, back towards the Academy and even the Boiler Room has closed by the time they reach her dorm.

The whole world is silent, sleeping as she kisses him goodnight outside her door, but as he wanders back to his own room, head somewhere up amongst the clouds, warm from the inside out despite the cool night air, it occurs to him that his world is only her.  


End file.
